"Poetry" - Edouard Kock

Its not an uncommon thing, or at least, not on Friday nights. Even though 
Ed has been accused of being 'peverted' and 'sick', he doesn't care. I loves 
the Friday Night Poetry Session. Or as it is known to those to lazy to say 
the full thing, 'EfNnngPee Es'. This paticular night, everyone was looking 
forward to Ed's 'usual metaphysical-deeper meaning-loosely based on his life' 
poetry. Drask was sprawled across the couch, Sulpher lying on top of him, her 
head on his chest. They always listened to the poetry like that. Mkima prefers 
the 'I'm-hiding-in-the-dark-corner-because-I'm-the-lord-of-hell' approach, 
and everyone promptly ignores him. Bromus is on the beanbag, somehow. The 
weredragon's ears perked and tuning in on Ed, who is standing in his usual 
spot, Miktar leaning against the wall slightly to the side of him. The entire 
world went quiet with anticipation. Or it could have been the 'Shut the hell 
up!' that Ed released a few seconds ago. It doesn't matter anymore, because 
once Ed starts, for some reason, everyone listens. Okay, so mabye the fact that 
he controls the food in the house has something to do with their undivided 
attention. Or that fact that he bites. Either of which, a -really- persuasive 
trait. Taking a deep breath, Ed starts reading from the paper in his hands.

'Die, all of you....   by Ed'

'This world or the other one to the left,
No matter its the same nowhere or wherever.
Not caring beyond what is important now,
As long as your beliefs of fate are together.

Sad anger at the stigma of those others,
Bad joy at repressing the ideals of the few.
Blind acceptance of your control you've given up,
Bigotry ignorance of the life that might renew.

How dare I choose to challenge it,
Idiot thinking that there is better to see.
Trying to explain how simple and sure,
Your fate and life without reality be.

Takul mi surka miac sur kor dracon,
Bermai miac di sor shira dax timra.
Ir sur kor dracon dea surka mi,
Myar mi shira mi ora ak bina kira.'

'The end.'

The apartment was quiet. It was either because everyone was -really- trying 
to see the meaning in that, or, they were -really- trying to see how to get 
out of giving comment on it. "What do you guys think?", Ed asks the myriad of
expression stricken faces. Bromus has the gift of the universal way out, and 
mutters "Erf." Ed nods, and looks at Drask and Sulpher, who in turn look at 
each other. 'Help', is written as clear as a stain on your favorite shirt, 
across their faces. Drask cannot resist using a word he recently learned. 
"Groovy", he mutters. Sulper gives him a "We will argue about -that-, later," 
look and then looks at Ed and says, "Something to definatly think about." Before 
he had time to sink into the shadows, Mkima gets hit with a "And you, Dem-Cah?" 
If anyone could have seen his face under the hood of his robe, they would have 
seen the lord of all destruction and death and really mean things, whimper. Hell, 
damnation, death, war with the heavens and all that, he could handle. But Ed's 
poetry was another story. He leaps with faith (odd for him), "Ed, I think you 
really put thought into the meaning of that." Ed smiles and nods. Another soul 
is saved. Mkima tries to relax by throwing a few more souls to their eternal 
damnations. Miktar walks over to Ed and presses his snout against Ed's nose. "I 
liked that one almost as much as 'I want to hurt some puppies because Im happy'.", 
the dragon says as he and Ed proceed to leave the apartment to go and buy milk. As 
the front door closes, and the gang hears them leave audio range, Sulpher promptly 
exclaims, "Jesus! Miktar actually -does- listen to that stuff! I would rather get 
my face beaten in by an orc at a bar fight, than have to listen to Ed explode over 
me not liking his poetry." Mkima moves out of the shadows. "Well, -that- was suttle, 
Sulpher," he mutters as he sits down on the other couch. "My strongpoint, after all," 
Sulpher sniggers but is then interrupted by a poke from the Demon under her. "But 
I thought your strongpoint was fu...", Drask mutters but gets a poke in the rib 
before he could complete his innocent honesty. Suddenly Drask, Sulper and Mkima 
look at the Weredragon on the beanbag, who had not moved since Ed finished his poem. 
"Er, Bromus? You okay?", Drask asks, throwing a pillow at the weredragon but misses. 
Bromus turns to look at the pillow lying on the floor next to him, then at Drask. 
"I think....that the poem....somehow.....stopped my brain."